


My Sweet Little Whore

by Syllis



Series: Underpinnings [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27662999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syllis/pseuds/Syllis
Summary: What's in a name?
Relationships: Savos Aren/Original Male Character
Series: Underpinnings [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1503053
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	My Sweet Little Whore

“I don’t know what I’m after,” Marcus complained. “Just… none of those names sound right. They’re not me.” He didn’t even know why he was whining about a name he’d be using for one night.

“Well, I’m certain I don’t know either.” Savos let the book fall shut over his fingers. He squinted down at Marcus, looking peevish, because Marcus had rejected every suggestion out of hand. “What was the name you used at the Embassy party?”

“I forgot to ask?” Marcus moved to sit at the Arch-Mage’s feet, resting his cheek against a slender knee. “Thane Erikur handled all that.”

“Let’s not have you get distracted again.” Savos Aren pressed Marcus’ hand to hold it still. Marcus’ sigh billowed the fine wool of Savos’ robe. “So, since nothing appeals to you; and familiar is always best, let’s take another look at your family history. Do you have any aunts?”

“Yeah, but…” Savos’s hand tightened, language again. “Yes, I do. But their names aren’t--.” Marcus couldn’t quite tug his hand loose, so he signalled defeat by relaxing his shoulder.

The Arch-Mage released him. “Names, please.”

“Isalda Vecellia. That’s my mother’s sister but we didn’t really know her. My mother always thought she’d moved to Stros M’Kai? But she didn’t know for certain.” He grimaced. Isalda. “It’s such an old-lady name. I don’t want that.”

Savos was laughing, softly. “Father’s side?”

“Lilla and Silvie. Um. Julilla and Salvia. I remember them, a little bit. And, all of the uh--” Marcus pushed his hair out of the way to let Savos rub the back of his neck. “Adopted aunts, but they kept their own names, so…” Rahiyyda, Parvani, Tahmina, and Maja. Not in the least bit Imperial-sounding names, so no. “Got adopted into the family when Ahtar did.” He yawned. “And there’s Ve-- well, Lucia’s her actual name. My brother Vekel adopted her as his sister, and it stuck. But-- I don’t think any of that works.”

“None of those names sound particularly Nibenese.” Savos Aren’s hand moved away as he reached for his drink. He sighed with contentment and set it back. “And I do think you’re right, we need a name that’ll allay inquiry. Not provoke it.” His now-cold fingertips returned to trace those downy wisps of hair at the back of Marcus’ neck. “What was your paternal grandmother’s gens?”

“Carius,” mumbled Marcus. “They were from way down south but her side of the family stayed in Bruma after the war.”

“But you’ve never been to Leyawiin.”

“No. Bruma, not too long ago, just to try to find my way around and I couldn’t. So just the Imperial City, and then along the Gold Road. I got pretty familiar with Anvil. Skingrad, a little bit. The cats didn’t like Kvatch so the caravan didn’t stay there nearly as long.” Marcus fell silent and nestled his cheek back against a lean thigh. 

It was too warm, being draped across the Arch-Mage’s lap, and the thin worsted wool was damp under his cheek. Marcus didn’t care. The stone floor under him still held winter’s chill, even in the midst of summer. The great clock ticked. Ice clinked against the side of the misted tankard as the Arch-Mage drank again, still musing. 

When Savos Aren cleared his throat, Marcus didn’t move.

A little twitch of fingers tugged at Marcus’ braid, in remonstration. Marcus groaned. “Just pick something! I don’t care.”

“Pulissena Trabatia,” said Savos, decisively.

“What?!” Marcus sat up; his thick braid of hair fell down.

“You just said you didn’t care,” the Arch-Mage reminded him. 

“But--” That name was ridiculous. And...how did Savos Aren not know that--

“Mm. The Trabatius gens has been regarded as noble-but-impoverished for centuries, and there are hundreds of them in the Nibenay. No one should bat an eyelash when we tell them you’re just out of boarding school. Kept so far away from life that an occasional lapse would be excusable.”

Marcus pushed himself all the way back up onto his heels. “How do we explain, um--” He gestured between the two of them.

Savos clicked his tongue: no um’s, please. “Best left up to popular imagination.” He laughed. “Anything we say will be taken as an arrant lie. I look forward to hearing the rumors.”

The tankard of iced wine was empty and the growing shadows were making it difficult to read. Time for bed. 

Savos stood up, re-tying his robe belt. “Also, just to avoid difficulties, your parents are dead and your sibling estranged. Think you can manage to deflect any questions about them?”

“Yeah, that’s not going to be a problem, cause it’s fucking well true.” Marcus got to his feet, ignoring Savos’ throat clearing. “Can we be done?” 

Because Marcus could always get back to fancy-language lessons later and right now he wanted to feel like himself. He pulled his own robe up over his head and tossed it towards the laundry-bin, conscious that Savos was watching him. The warm touch of his gaze was like firelight; Marcus could feel it on his skin without looking. He pulled his hair-bindings loose and began to unweave his long braid, keeping each movement graceful; a slow dance.

“Pullissena.” Marcus shuddered theatrically. “Hope you’ve got something special planned tonight, to make up for that. Waaiit. Wait a moment. D’you know what that name means? In the Legion, I mean, ‘cause--”

The Arch-Mage’s eyes were the ember light of dying coals. “My sweet little chicken.” His thin lips curved with satisfaction. “Shall we begin?”

Five heartbeats later, Savos Aren removed his hand from Marcus’ gasping mouth. “None of that. No screaming, no howling. Practice silence. We talked about this.”

Marcus nodded vigorously, the burden of his hair falling in heavy waves over his shoulders, tangling around his throat, strands clinging to his damp face. He panted, silent. 

Oh, he’d been ready for it, well-slicked, expecting it even, per earlier discussion. The Arch-Mage had punched right to the hilt and ripped an unguarded noise from Marcus with each thrust, till he’d slapped that hand over Marcus’ mouth. 

“Need a moment?” Savos nibbled at his shoulder, gently, lazily. His grip on Marcus’ wrists lessened, ever so slightly.

“Nngh! Gods, no. Fuck me.” Marcus squirmed, whining. His hips jerked as he tried to get Savos to move, but those fingers bit in deeper, holding him like iron. His wrists were lifted skyward, bending him at the waist.

“There we are,” panted the Arch-Mage, working with a will. “Right there--”

“I’m not--” Marcus gasped. 

Even though Savos’ hands still held him tight, magicka blossomed outwards around him in streamers of purple-pink that shrank to enclose him in a netted lattice, and as soon as it closed on his skin-- his breath hissed loose. It was like being made of light, and for just a moment he existed outside himself, outside the universe; this was Aetherius, he would--

His body gave before his vision did and he broke in great waves before collapsing onto the bed.

“Mmm, lovely,” purred Savos. “Oh, no.” He’d let Marcus’ hands go, but took hold of his hips as if to say, liberty was not license. “Stay where you are. This will last a little while.”

“Make it last a long while,” Marcus tried to say, but his voice was as blurred-out as the rest of him. Because he wanted it to last forever, but--

That name.

Hurt washed through him. 

Knowing how easily Savos read his face, Marcus turned his face to the side, letting his hair fall to screen himself. His fingernails bit and nipped at Savos’ sides as a distraction. The Arch-Mage was not in a place where he could notice; and by the time he was, Marcus had full control of himself again.


End file.
